A Paradox of Reason
by 4MorningStar4
Summary: Donatello has always prided himself on his ability to think clearly under pressure, his booksmarts, & his knack for finding answers. He's about to learn that not everything can be explained. In fact, some things in this life don't have an answer at all.


Title: _A Paradox of Reason_, Chapter One  
Warnings: One cuss word, I think  
Word Count: 1,927  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I don't own the TMNT or any related characters. They belong to the most awesome Kevin Eastman, and his co-creator, Peter Laird  
Characters: Donatello, Raphael, Splinter  
Summary: Donatello is so tired of being misunderstood...  
Author's Notes: Wow, it's been far too long since I've written a TMNT fic. This is chapter one, and many more are to come. Feel free to leave comments or ask questions. Thank you so much to my betas, Blue and Greenwillow. :) ::hugs::

"Donnie, what the hell? Shut it off already!" 

"I'm trying...I'm trying," Donatello called, but his voice was drowned out by the wail of the siren that echoed off the walls of the lair. He rushed to the panel that was nestled amongst the mortar and clay and wedged a screwdriver under its edge. "Something still isn't right..." he shouted louder.

"Yeah, no shit!" Raphael yelled. The noise had been rising in a steady crescendo over the past five minutes and had now become a deafening screech. Don grimaced against the throbbing in his temples and spared his brother a glance; Raphael had his hands pressed to the sides of his head as if trying to block out the sound.

It was difficult to think with all this noise, but Donatello tried to stay focused. It wasn't the first time he'd dealt with this situation; he knew what he had to do. With a sigh, he propped the tool against a protruding brick and rocked the handle back and forth until he was able to wrench the panel loose. As he tugged it free, he thought about all the hell he was going to catch for this later. It was the fifth time this week the alarm had been triggered, and as of yet, he had been unable to find a reason.

The first time it had sounded, the four of them had scoured the sewers for hours in search of intruders. They'd been unable to detect any sign of life other than a handful of rats and the occasional cockroach. There had been no footprints, no shadows, not even a distant smell or sound that might lead them to believe anything was out there. Now, six warnings later, they weren't any closer to an answer. Donatello knew his brothers were depending on _him_ to figure out what was going wrong. After all, he was the one who had rigged up the system in the first place.

He knew his calculations were good and that his wiring was sound; that made this mystery all the more annoying. He'd spent countless hours and many sleepless nights devising the schematics. It should have been flawless.

As he tossed the metal plate aside, Donatello focused on the network of colored wires that now hung exposed. He traced the connections with a finger and went over each one in his mind. Everything seemed in order; he couldn't understand what had gone wrong. He studied the number pad that sat just to the right of the control box, and with thick digits, he punched in the reset sequence. A surge of power dimmed the lights, threatening to extinguish them. And then, all was quiet. The silence was so profound it rang in Don's ears. When the television sprang back to life and the lamps flickered to full power, it was to illuminate the various computers and machinery Donatello had strewn all over the den. They began to hum merrily in the background again, oblivious to the chaos that had just ensued.

Donatello turned to meet the sour look on Raphael's face.

"'Bout damn time," Raph growled. "You know, you may want to call a _real_ electrician over to get that fixed. It's really starting to piss me off."

"A _real_ electrician?" Donatello felt a stab of pain at those words. Raphael should have known that he was more than capable of handling this himself. Why was it, he wondered, that whenever his experiments were successful, nothing much was said, but when things didn't go quite as planned, that's all anyone seemed to dwell on? As always though, he buried these thoughts and simply spoke the obvious. "Raph, you know we can't bring someone down here--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know that, Einstein. But next time you get one of those genius ideas in your head, maybe you should just go play with your tinker toys instead."

Donatello sighed and buried his face in his hand. "Raph, I told you...those aren't tinker toys. They're models of atoms. The purple ones are the nuclei and the blue ones are the electrons. They're connected by pliable tubing that shows the orbit of--"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just...leave the complicated stuff to someone who knows what they're doing, eh?"

"I'll have you know that I'm more than capable of--"

"Yeah? Then tell me--why ain't it fixed yet? If you're _so_ damn smart, why can't you figure out one stupid little alarm system that you installed yourself?"

He'd had just about enough of this. Day in and day out for the past week, Raphael had been showering him with sarcasm. He wondered sometimes if his brother was even capable of meaningful conversation, or if all that floated around in that brain of his were insults. Donatello had always considered himself a very patient turtle, but all of this badgering was starting to wear a hole in the thick layer of indifference he'd learned to shroud himself with over the years.

"Think?" He spat. "Is that something you're even capable of, Raph?"

Raphael snarled and flashed his teeth; Donatello knew he'd struck a nerve.

"I can think just fine, _Donatello_. And right now, I'm thinking about kicking your ass!"

Don slammed the screwdriver down on the table and squared his shoulders. "Yeah?" He challenged. "Well then, why don't you try it?"

With a growl, Raphael charged. Donatello jumped into a fighting stance, his fists raised to protect his face and chest. Raphael took a swing. Donatello ducked. And then the crack of a wooden cane halted their movements altogether. With a gasp, Raphael staggered backward and ran a hand over his plastron where the makeshift weapon had struck.

"Donatello...Raphael...what is the meaning of this?"

Sheepish, Donatello rubbed the back of his head, refusing to meet Splinter's eyes. "Sorry, master. Raph and I had a...disagreement. And I guess I let it get to me."

Splinter turned to address his other pupil, but Raphael said nothing.

"One hundred pushups," the rat chastised. "And next time, I expect you to resolve your differences like the adults you are. Oh, and Donatello?"

"Yes, master Splinter?"

"Please find a way to fix the alarm system soon, or I fear we shall alert the entire neighborhood of our presence."

Donatello sighed. "Yes, master."

He gritted his teeth as Raphael sniggered in the background.

* * *

The sun had only just set as he made his way through the alley and onto the main street. He paused to peek around the corner before risking the brief jog to the overhang of the building next door. All was clear, save the occasional passing car. He took a moment to calculate the possibility that another vehicle might drive by within the next five seconds. The variables proved too random though; sometimes there was a whole string of cars at once, and other times the street was barren. Some things, Donatello knew, were simply unpredictable, human thought processes most of all.

Deciding to risk it, he took one last glance around, then crouched down and stepped into the open. As he ran, the wind's icy fingers caressed his face, sending a shiver down his spine. He pulled his coat tighter around his neck as he reached his destination, and pressing his back to the brick, he inched along the side of the building. The moon was nearly full tonight, and Donatello decided he was grateful that he lived in such a big city. The tall buildings helped to block out the brightness of the streetlights and offered concealment from prying eyes.

As he crept toward the back of the structure, he exhaled and peered into the window. It was difficult to make out anything inside; the room was far too dark. He took that to mean the place had been deserted, just as he'd expected. Confident with his assumption, he tried the back door, already knowing it would be locked. He reached into his knapsack and rummaged for his tools. With care, he inserted the end of a screwdriver into the keyhole and rotated it clockwise. Then he wedged the pick into the lock and pressed his ear against he door. He moved the instrument around until he heard the faint click of a pin falling into the housing. Donatello repeated this process until all five pins had been maneuvered into place. With a grin of self-satisfaction, he turned the knob and swung the door open.

As Donatello ducked inside, his senses were overcome with the dusty scent of leather and old paper. One of the fluorescent lights had been left on--he assumed to discourage trespassers--and he could make out the silhouettes of shelves stocked full of hardcover tomes. How he loved the feel and smell of books. They were so carefully bound, the covers solid in his hands. He ran his finger over a binding and pulled it from its shelf. As he flipped through the pages, the earthy smell reminded him of things as ancient as the stories that were written on them. He smiled to himself and slid the book back in its place.

With the aid of the dim light, he tiptoed toward the back corner where he knew the reference material would be. Why he was being so cautious, he couldn't really explain. He chalked it up to his training; his sensei had taught him that it was always best to be on guard. His time here would be limited; although Splinter hadn't voiced his disagreement to Donatello's jaunt, he knew his master wasn't fond of his borrowing without permission. There was no other way though, unless he made April or Casey do it for him, and he'd already asked far too much of them. This was something simple. This, he could do.

"Hello, is someone there?"

Donatello froze, nearly dropping the encyclopedia clutched in his hands. He let out the breath he was holding and spun around, in search of the owner of the voice.

"Bryan, is that you?"

_Who's Bryan?_, Donatello's mind registered before he came to his senses and ducked behind a rack of books for shelter.

"Bryan?"

He held his breath. How had someone else gotten in here, he wondered. The library had closed an hour ago. Had he left the door open? Had someone been watching him?

"Bryan? Come on, this isn't funny."

With bated breath, he listened to the sound of her footsteps. She was drawing closer; the faint thud of her shoes against the carpet grew more distinct. Donatello inched his way down the row and slid around to the next one.

He peered out between the books, watching her. In the darkness, it was hard to make out her features, but he could tell she was short and thin, and that she had dark hair that hung just past her shoulders. There was something about her that seemed out of place, but he didn't think it had anything to do with her appearance. It was just a suggestion, a hint at the back of his mind that told her she was different. He would have been lying to himself if he said he wasn't at least a bit intrigued, but there was no time to ponder it now. She was turning away, and he had to get out of here before she came back. Despite his curiosity, Donatello breathed a sigh of relief as he watched her go. And then, he snatched a book from the shelf and slipped out the backdoor like the ninja he was, to become one with the night.


End file.
